PRINCE IN EXILE (53 page)

‘You feared for the welfare of your family,’ he said, seeking some glimmer of insight, of empathy. ‘You feared that the rebels would seek revenge on yourself and your family for Ravana’s excesses. That is why you took this extreme step. Fear always breeds destruction, my sister. Your actions, though contrary to your dharma, are understandable in that light. You must atone for your acts, of course. I will aid you in that atonement. But … ‘ 

She turned her face fully to him. With the sky behind her and the darkness of the temple at his own back, her features were shadow-smeared, obscure. Only her eyes glinted in that shadowed visage. 

‘I did not do it out of fear, Vibhisena. I had my family removed at the very outset of the riots. Otherwise my sons would never have stood by quietly and let a chance at armed combat pass by. No, my brother-in-marriage. I did what I did because it had to be done. When I saw the lust and rapaciousness in the eyes of the rebels, in those who were formerly most loyal to my husband, those who had sat by his feet and fed on his scraps like hounds, fawning on his slightest favours, it filled me with loathing and disgust. I decided then and there that if those wretches could not be loyal to Ravana, if all they sought was to usurp his authority shamelessly and repay his governance with open treachery, then they might as well all die. It was a difficult thing to order, but order it I did. So hear me well now. I ordered the destruction of Lanka for one reason and one reason only.
If Ravana cannot rule Lanka, then nobody will
.’ 

And then she turned on her heel and walked on towards the Pushpak, leaving Vibhisena standing in the dim half-light of the temple threshold, stunned and dismayed beyond belief. 

SIX 

Lakshman stood on a boulder upon a ridge, silhouetted against the faintly reddening sky. A soft breeze rustled the grassy meadow around him. His rig was on his back, his bow in hand and tightly strung, an arrow notched at the ready but held loosely; only the cord remained to be drawn. As Rama approached, Lakshman raised the bow, forming a perfect silhouette against the lightening predawn sky, and drew the cord taut to its limit. If it had been a statue, Rama would have named it
Ayodhyan Bowman
. There were moments, not as rare as one might expect, when he caught himself wishing he had been born into the house of some artisan in the guilds of Ayodhya. A sculptor’s would have done. He had always had a good hand for carving and sculpting, clay-modelling even. In these day-dream moments outside the normal span of consciousness, he imagined what it might be like to be
that
Rama, a shilpi by birth, a professional sculptor for hire. He would have carved flattering busts and representations of rich noblemen and vaisyas who commissioned them, and in his spare time he would have wrought pieces such as this one.
Ayodhyan Bowman
. An attempt to capture the grace and agile beauty of an anonymous young hunter. Yes. Sometimes the day-dream seemed almost desirable. What did paupers dream of? Becoming princes. What did princes dream of? Becoming kings, of course. But what did kings dream of? Becoming … someone else. Anything but kings. Even commoners would do. 

He paused below the boulder and waited. 

Lakshman loosed his arrow, the sound of the cord echoing like a whip-crack in the placid morning. High above, a flock of birds cried and altered course. A moment later, a heavy object fell fluttering to land with a muffled thud in the thick overgrowth across the clearing. 

‘Yes, bhai.’ 

Lakshman’s voice was as taut as the cord had been, held by an invisible hand. 

Rama looked up. 

Lakshman remained standing, still staring upwards at a diagonal, scanning the dark skies intently. ‘Speak if you wish.’ He added after a moment, ‘It will not disturb my shooting.’ 

‘Why do you hunt?’ Rama said. ‘We already have food to break our sleep-fast. Guha provides generously.’ 

‘And should we not repay his generosity?’ The question contained the faintest trace of a challenge. ‘These fowl are to replace the fish and meat he gave us. Were we not taught by our guru to repay every debt, be it ever so small, at the earliest possible time? For debt unpaid becomes debt unbearable over time. That is all I am doing. Repaying Guha for his hospitality.’ 

Rama chose his words carefully, knowing that the wrong choice of phrase could turn his brother’s barely contained sullenness into belligerence. He had no stomach for an argument with Lakshman, not at this early hour, not at any time. ‘That is good,’ he said, using honest praise. ‘I should fetch my rig and do the same. Or … ‘ He allowed himself a brief pause, hoping that Lakshman would catch his meaning. When that did not happen, he continued, ‘Or perhaps you will allow me to use your bow to down a bird or two.’ 

Lakshman found a new target, sighted intently, pulling the cord taut once more, then released. ‘I can down enough for all three of us.’ 

Rama nodded, then leapt on to the boulder. ‘I have no doubt you can.’ He stood beside Lakshman, compelling his brother to pay attention to him by entering his private space. There was very little room on the boulder for one bowman, let alone two. Lakshman was forced to lower the bow and stare at Rama. Rama deliberately did not meet his gaze but looked towards the east, where a crack had opened in the deep blue sky and strange hues were leaking out, heralding the new day. 

‘Lakshman, my brother,’ he said. 

‘Yes, Rama?’ 

‘I wish to ask you a question.’ 

Lakshman kept his eyes on the sky. ‘Yes, brother, speak. I am listening.’ 

‘What Guha said last night … It was a generous invitation, and a wise one too.’ 

‘I thought so. But I did not think you felt the same.’ 

‘It was not an invitation I could accept. Not for myself at least, for the terms of my banishment are crystal clear. I must go to the Dandaka-van. But Lakshman, you are not bound by those same terms. You may stay here freely of your own choice. Why, if some calamity were to befall Ayodhya, or, the devas forbid, our family, you would be free to ride back to the capital and deal with it as you will. Guha’s ties to our nation are strong, and communication between Ayodhya and his lands is easy and frequent. You would be in a position to travel to Ayodhya whenever you wished. If Bharat spoke truly in Guha’s presence, and I have no doubt that he did, then our brother intends to take up residence at Nandigram. Which means that he will not set foot in Ayodhya again until I return from exile. You know our brother well, Lakshman. He will do as he has vowed, no matter what it costs. Even open civil riot would not draw him back against his word. Given these circumstances, it would be a blessing to our mothers if you were to remain here, accessible to Ayodhya and our family.’ 

Lakshman looked down. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. ‘You wish me to remain here in the land of the Nisadas while Sita and you travel to Dandaka-van to live out your exile?’ 

‘I wish it, yes, for then I could rest easy knowing that at least you, my brother, are at hand to raise your sword in Ayodhya’s and our family’s protection should such a need arise.’ 

Lakshman turned to look at him. Even without seeing his face, Rama could feel the accusation in Lakshman’s eyes, burning into him. ‘Do you not wish me to go with you? To travel by your side? To sit by your cookfire at nights? To hunt shoulder to shoulder? To face whatever dangers - and surely the Dandakavan is far more dangerous than civilised Ayodhya - in that forest of banishment alongside you? As we have faced so many dangers and shared so many days together? Are you so weary of my companionship and brotherhood that you wish to have done with me now?’ 

Rama sighed. ‘How can you even think such things, Lakshman? You know I love you as much as my life itself. I would spend every living moment with you if I could.’ 

‘Then why do you wish to separate us?’ Lakshman hesitated, then asked, ‘Is it because you are married now?’ 

Rama frowned, turning to look at him. ‘What does my being married have to do with this, or with anything else? Am I not still your brother now that I am married? Do I not love you as much?’ 

‘Yet you will take Sita with you into Dandaka-van today but you ask me to stay behind.’ 

‘You cannot compare the two things, Lakshman. She is my wife. You are my brother. One is neither more nor less than the other.’ 

‘Yet you are treating us differently. By asking me to stay and allowing her to accompany you.’ 

‘Lakshman, her dharma is different from yours. Her dharma demands that she follow her husband wherever he may go, in sorrow or joy, sickness or health, wealth or poverty … these are part of our wedding vows. But your dharma commands you to protect your family and your kingdom, to serve our people.’ 

‘And your dharma does not?’ 

Rama sighed. ‘I am already following my dharma.’ 

‘And so am I.’ 

Rama shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Lakshman. You are thinking now like a brother, not a raj-Kshatriya. Not like a prince of Ayodhya. You forget: you have not been exiled. I have. I must go. And for the same reason, you ought to stay.’ Rama glanced at the eastern sky. ‘Already it’s nearing daybreak. In a little while we must start out, before the sun rises too high. Give me your answer swiftly, my brother. What will you do?’ 

Lakshman stared at the horizon for many moments. Rama let him think his way through the decision. The sky grew steadily lighter, the crack opening to fill the whole world with new light. Even so, it was still not fully daybreak yet. Mere moments had passed, though it felt like a lifetime. Rama’s heart ached with too many unspoken words and feelings.
My brother. I wish I did not have to burden you with such decisions. But such is the burden of princes and someday kings
. 

Finally Lakshman asked simply, ‘Rama, can I ask a question?’ 

‘Of course.’ 

‘If I were the one banished into exile, and you were my brother, our positions reversed, and I said the same things to you that you have just said to me, then would you have agreed to stay, and let me go into Dandaka-van without you?’ 

Rama nearly smiled, but caught himself in time.
Clever Luck. A mind as quick as your bow
. ‘What I might or might not have done is not relevant. You have to decide for yourself.’ 

‘I have already decided. But I still want to know what you would have done.’ 

Rama looked at him. He could just make out Lakshman’s features now. Staying awake all night with Guha seemed not to have marked Lakshman’s face too much. His eyes still seemed clear, though filled with that heartbreaking sorrowful look that seemed to have become part of his appearance since leaving Ayodhya. ‘If I answer that question, it will influence you.’ 

‘It won’t. I will not change my decision either way. You have my word on that.’ 

Rama hesitated, then nodded. He trusted Lakshman. ‘If our places were reversed, then I would have stayed and let you go into the Dandaka-van without me.’ 

Lakshman nodded, smiling in triumph. ‘I knew you would say that. It is exactly your way. You would have stayed because you believe in the truth of your words: that my dharma would be better served by staying here with Guha, within reach of Ayodhya. And you, Rama, would always follow your dharma, even if it meant letting me go into exile alone. That is always your way.’ 

Rama didn’t say anything. There was no need to. 

After another thoughtful pause, Lakshman went on, ‘But I will not do as you would have. Rama, I will not stay here with Guha. I will come with you into Dandaka-van, if you will have me. If you still want me to, my brother.’ 

Rama looked at him, his eyes softer now. ‘When did I say I did not want you? That was never the issue.’ 

‘Then I can come with you?’ 

Rama sighed. He was caught now, between brotherly love and dharmic duty. ‘You do not intend to follow your dharma then?’ 

‘Of course I do.’ 

Rama blinked. ‘But then … ‘ 

‘My dharma is to stay beside you, Rama. Always. No matter what happens, this one thing will always be true. Lakshman will stay beside Rama for ever.’ 

‘But what about our mothers? Ayodhya? Your responsibility to the people?’ 

Lakshman spread his palms. ‘I serve them all by serving you.’ 

Rama stared at him. 

Lakshman put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘To you, Rama, the people will always come first. Even before our mothers, even before me, or Sita … That is why you are Rama.’ He shrugged. ‘And to me,
you
always come first. Do you see now? You serve dharma, and in doing so you serve the people of Ayodhya. I serve you, and in doing so I serve my dharma, which is
you
. Rama is Lakshman’s dharma.’ 

Rama stared at him. Then, overcome by emotion, he embraced Lakshman tightly, fiercely. Lakshman embraced him back, just as fiercely. Behind them, the dawn broke quietly. 

Rama finally ended the embrace. He gestured towards the shrubbery into which he had seen the bird fall. ‘Now, my brother, I think we should go fetch the gifts you captured for Guha before some other predator takes them and has them for breakfast!’ 

Neither of them noticed the pair of eyes watching them intently from the shadows of the nearby thicket as they walked back to their camp, carrying four fat geese slung over their shoulders, talking and chatting amicably. That was not surprising in itself; even the most cautious of hunters would hardly bother with a mere doe skulking shyly. But when the doe transformed a moment later, changing in the same muscle-wrenching, bone-reshaping manner as the famed shapeshifters of her mother’s race, the yaksas, were wont to do, it was well that neither brother was within sight. For they would have certainly been on their guard against the formidable creature that now stood in the thicket, her half-rakshasi, half-yaksi form terrifying enough to send the squirrels scurrying up the branches of the highest trees to be well away from her.